By Eric Eisenberg
As my wife slept, my head banged against the wooden headboard. I couldn’t sleep. For the past hour I had tossed and turned, flipping from one side to the other, back to stomach, side to side. The sleep medication I had taken two hours ago failed to kick in. Clear your mind, I thought. Focus entirely on sleeping. But something was keeping me awake.
I rose from the bed and thrust the sheets towards my wife’s feet. I leaned over, hoping she would wake so that I would have company, but she simply turned over and let out a sigh, a smile slowly stretching across her face. I hated her at that moment. My frustration continued as she slept peacefully, her eyes flittering under her eyelids as dreams took her to places where she danced with celebrities and dated football players. My pain resonated in the room and trapped me in misery. She continued to smile.
I walked through the bedroom doorway and down to the kitchen, feeling the cold of the wooden stairs on my feet. When I opened the fridge, the light burned my eyes as I grasped blindly for the milk. Warm milk helps you fall asleep, I had heard. Pulling out the carton, I shook it, checking to see how much was left. Not much. My eyes craned to the ceiling and closed as my lips whispered curses. Over $200 spent at the supermarket and she couldn’t even pick up some goddamn milk. My frustration mounted. Pouring what little was left into a mug, I put it into the microwave. I crushed the empty carton in my hand and hurled it towards the trash can. The carton hit the side of the can with a loud thud, causing it to tip. Garbage splashed across the linoleum floor. My eyes focused on the stairs, but my effort was futile. She still slumbered. I could see her upstairs, sleeping soundly, smiling in her dreams.
As I bent down to pick up the scattered garbage, the microwave beeped. Flinging the apple cores and crumpled paper towels back in the bin, a small movement caught the corner of my eye. As I took the mug from the microwave, I turned and saw a small calico cat perched on the doormat outside the sliding door. It watched every move I made, its golden eyes flittering and never blinking.
I slid open the glass door. Kneeling down, I slowly placed the mug in front of the tiny beast. It didn’t look down; it kept its focus on me. Still crouched, and nearly eye to eye, I bit my lip, feeling a bit dizzy.
“What do you want then?” I asked, returning the feline’s gaze.
“We want your wife,” it stated stoically.
“What for?”
“Everyone needs to eat.” The cat’s head turned back and I my eyes followed, seeing hundreds of glowing eyes in the darkness, staring back at me.
“Why my wife?” My eyes returned to the cat in front of me.
“Everyone needs to eat.”
I backed away slowly, but did not touch the door. They didn't move. I crept up the stairs silently, and returned to the bedroom. I pulled the sheets over my head and willed myself into slumber, ignoring the brush of fur and the light pressure of paws as they passed over me.
© Eric Eisenberg, All Rights Reserved